


The Hat

by QueenPotatos



Category: Naruto
Genre: Crack, French, Lactose Intolerance, M/M, Nonsense, and a hat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 15:21:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1108425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenPotatos/pseuds/QueenPotatos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hashirama had night anxieties, and treat then with sake and cheese. And of course, he always ends up to Madara place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hat

**Author's Note:**

> For my defense, I was very tired when I wrote this.

On silent moonless night like these, Madara always knew when something was about to happen.

It was in his blood : his warrior senses were still as sharp as ever, even after founding the village – Peace? What a joke – and there was something in the rustle of the wind that was warning him. The wind was telling him a terrible event was going to occur, right there, on their new born village.

Madara sighed. He started to list the names of all the scatterbrained clan's leader in the area that would be stupid enough to attack the both of them, mindlessly, in the middle of a fucking night when he was trying to sleep like every other man in the world – for Nakano's sake was it really too much to ask? He made peace with the Senju for having the inalienable right to have a full night sleep! His rings weren't going anywhere sooner at this rate... - but soon, he frowned and stopped in his task. The wind was telling him that it wasn't a threat from the outside.

The disaster would be bring by someone...from the inside!

_'A mole...'_ Of course he immediately thought of Tobirama, but the wind – again, that damn wind, maybe he shouldn't have drunk that much sake, tonight's wind was such a chatterbox it was giving him a headache. Or maybe it was the sake again. He didn't know, and, to talk frankly, he didn't care at all. Madara also thought the writer was being even more talkative than the wind so he threatened her to continue the story. - and then finally, Madara remembered.

 And at that very moment someone knocked on his door. He didn't even have to ask to know who it was. There was only one person, one careless person in this entire village, that will have the guts – or, the lack of conscience, which is probably more appropriate in this particular situation – to wake him up at this fucking hour – it was close to midnight for Nakano's sake! Doctors said eight hours of sleep, aren't Senju paying attention to their health or what? - and it's without any surprise or any trace of joy on his face that Madara opened his door to his long time weirdo friend/ weirdo rival/ mortal enemy/ kinda handsome enemy – why puberty wasn't equal for everyone this really wasn't fair-/ totally gorgeous friends again/ perfect human being wearing a long white bathrobe with a red bobble hat and still looking hot in it.

“Wha'ya doing?” Here, in the middle of the night, not wearing anything under your pyjamas, looking as if you've seen a ghost.

“...The hat.” Hashirama simply whispered. If it was possible to 'simply' whisper.

Hashirama was a weirdo when he was young. Of course, when he became an adult he somehow managed to hide all of his tic and strange mannerism but it seemed puberty, although being very efficient on his physical look, had forgotten to take care of a little details called Hashirama's brain.

Or heart. Maybe heart was more accurate for Hashirama.

He had often woken up in the middle of the night in sweat, being assault by metaphorical and existential question like 'what is fire?' or 'where does water come from?' and when he got that answer then came the ' where does the water comes from when Tobirama is doing a suiton?', question which have given his father headaches for years.

And then later in his early teens, he heard about a strange land far away from the ninja word and of some of its 'specialities'.

Tormented by his Senju hormones – come on even without looking him closely you can tell Hashirama is full of testosterone – he chose not to voice his new-coming night terrors.

 

  _'Why does kissing with the tongue is called a French kiss? Is it because in France they are only kissing like that? Is that why people find the French gross? If I make out with Madara will I become French? I want to eat some cheese...'  
_

_'...I was only thinking about French kissing Madara cause of my love for cheese. Yeah. My undying love for cheese.'_

In front of his denial, Fate decided to give him lactose intolerance, but all its effort were vain. When the heart refuses to see the bull in the china shop there's nothing we can do about it.

And this brings us to this night, where Hashirama stood in front of Madara's door looking at him and thinking about...cheese – he didn't know why but each time he looked at his lips this strange thought came to his mind. He really need to read more of Freud's books there must be something hidden underneath – completely anxious and distraught by a...

“...Which hat? Your bobble hat?” asked Madara. He didn't know if he should let him inside. It was freezing outside – that would be a good punishment for making him up this late.

“No. The hat. For the Hokage.” he said, more confident, as if it was an obvious fact.

“For the _What_?” He had never heard of that. Hokage? Wow that was a really shitty name for-

“Don't play dumb! We talked about this just a hours ago. On the cliff, remember?”

“The...cliff?” Madara vaguely remembered they went on the cliff during the afternoon but all of their meaningless conversation had completely slipped out of his mind – instead there were leaves flying around Hashirama's perfect face and his hair, smooth and shining as the sun OH FUCK the Hokage thing and Konohakagure!

“Yeah, you know. A steep high rock face, especially one that runs along the seashore and has the strata exposed.”

“God Hashirama, I know what a cliff is...I'm not that dumb. So what about the Hokage?”

“...You need a hat.” He finally said firmly, after a court pause.

“...No I don't.” Madara wasn't sure who had drunk the most but there was something he would never put on his head, and that thing would be a hat. “But why did you wake me up in the middle of the night? Is something wrong with the whole...Hokage thing? I guess it's Tobirama – I'm sure it's Tobirama-”

“Stop complaining it's not the middle of the night. And no Tobirama doesn't know yet...thus he can't be against the idea...yet. Can I come in? It's freezing. I've got goosebumps and my nipples are-”

“Sure.” He wasn't sure he wanted to hear the end of Hashirama's sentence.

They sat on the wooden table and opened a new bottle of sake – the wind told Madara he would need another one to handle the disaster that was coming. Or maybe he was schizophrenic. Or drunk. Who knows. Certainly not me - and got back on business quickly.

To his greatest surprise, Hashirama took a piece of paper and a pen out of nowhere and started drawing a...it couldn't really be called a drawing. It was in fact a circle and strokes with a...a...yeah it kinda looked like a turd on top of the not-so-round circle.

“Is that me?” asked Madara, sceptical in front of this new work of art.

“Yes. You see where lies the problem.” Hashirama answered him with his so natural and confident voice that his host had to refrain a laugh.

“Yeah. I have some poop on my head. It's kind of bothersome.”

Hashirama rolled his eyes and tried his best on a second draft.

“Why am I wearing a Chinese street peddler hat now?” Madara complained after seeing his friend's new drawing.

“'Cause that's the only thing I can think of right now – or maybe it's the only thing I can possibly draw, you choose.” The Senju answered, not showing any sign of exasperation in contrast of the man in beside him.

“Then why did you start drawing in the first place?”

“I don't see why I wouldn't be able to draw when Mito is doing such beautiful painting – it's ink for god's sake she can't even edit her art and it's already perfect! - I am the God of Shinobi I should be able to draw properly, shouldn't I? What you...think about it...Madara my friend...you don't give a shit don't you?”

“No shits given.”

Again the Senju leader sighed loudly and bumped his forehead on the wooden table.

“But why would the Hokage need a hat?” this was something Madara had trouble understanding – nobody in the Senju or the Uchiha clan was wearing such...ugly things.

“I thought it'd be better than a crown.” Hashirama answered very seriously.

“...Hashirama what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Look, the Hokage is going to lead the whole village. Not only a clan of hundred ninja, but...thousand people! And maybe even more! He had to be...recognizable.”

“Hum...I guess you're right. I can totally imagine the scene. 'Mom, look! The man with a chinese hat made of scum. That must be our venerable Hokage!' I really can't wait.”

“Madara don't be so picky.”

“I'm being picky? You're not the one who's gonna wear that shit. Know what? If there's gonna be a hat, I quid. I didn't sign for this shit.”

“You didn't sign for anything yet.”

“Shut up Senju. Get out of my house.”

 

 

 

_[...And a bottle of sake later...]_

 

 “So, now that we've designed the shape, we need a color.” Said Madara, his cheek all red and his hand busy with Hashirama pencil – who was pointedly pouting on the opposite side of the table, why was he the only one who couldn't draw for his own life?

“I dunno...” he started, and then they both pretended to really think hard about the issue when in reality, they absolutely didn't care. Madara had decided long ago he wasn't going to wear this never ever – and he came up with the most ridiculous design, being sure Hashirama and maybe even Tobirama if he was lucky would have to wear it and he just couldn't wait – while Hashirama was just pondering about what color would suit Madara's eyes the most.

“What about green? I've heard it's the color of hope.” offered Hashirama.

“No it's not. It's the color of jealousy and envy, of sickness and death...and even of the Devil...you know what?” He said after a short pose, “Actually I like your idea. Let's paint it in green.”

“No more sake for you Madara, this is serious matter!” Hashirama took the bottle off his friend's grip and put it safely next to his feet. “How about blue then?”

“Blue? What kind of blue? Sky blue, navy blue, dark blue, blue turquoise-”

“I dunno, blue! Why is there so many blues anyway...blue sounds fine, don't you think? It's symbolise water and purity-”

Madara definitely didn't like the idea. He had to think of a parade and quick.

“-and royalty and calmness and loyalty and masculinity-”

“Hashirama, we can't do that.” Madara cut him all of a sudden.

“...Can do what? Color a hat? I have some paint pot at home don't worry you know Mito she is an artist she uses them all the time I can easily borrow one.”

“That's not what I meant! Think of Mito...and Toka for a second. Times are changing. It's a time of peace, shinobi are now equals. But what about women? We have always put them into a corner, treated them like baby machines...and now that we're building a village and creating a new model of society you want to oppress them and make them remembered we still considered women as less of men by giving their beloved leader the symbol of masculinity? Hashirama, you're disappointing me. I didn't know you were so cruel.”

 The Senju was completely taken aback by this wonderful speech. Madara was so right!

“Then, let's choose Pink.”

“That's a wonderful idea Hashirama. Pink it would be.”

And Hashirama had never been so proud of himself – making a huge step for women's rights.

 

 

 

_[...Another bottle of sake latter...]_

“So, now that we also choose your bathrobe as the Hokage clothes, I think we're good. It's only 2 am so I'll have to sleep till 10 am to have a complete night.”

“Madara...I have an issue with the pink hat...”

Hashirama was now completely drunk, lounging on the table and playing with the end of Madara's long sleeves mindlessly.

Madara sighed. He had to play it safe : his dreams of Tobirama wearing a pink hat was in the balance he couldn't afford to lose this game.

“It's just that...it's not beautiful.”

Well that was the whole point, but Madara chose to keep his thoughts to himself.

“I mean it doesn't suit you at all...”

It was never meant to suit him either – keep quite Madara, sake is making you talkative.

“...with your dark ebony long gorgeous magnificent hair and your red, gloomy, intoxicating eyes...”

And that was never meant to get out of Hashirama's mouth.

“I mean look at you Madara you are so handsome and beautiful and perfect, this clothes had to prettify you, not making you look like a bad chibi sailor moon cosplay. We're not even sure my bathrobe suits you properly.”

Madara had stayed silent the whole time. Because, well, it's not everyday that Hashirama Senju was drunk enough to make so much compliment on his looks – actually he did it quite often but Madara never remembered them because he was always more drunk than Hashirama – and thus he realized a little bit too late what Hashirama was doing in front of him.

He had now taken off his bathrobe and stood nearly naked in front of him.

“Try it.”

And without any second thoughts he got naked himself and put on Hashirama's bathrobe.

“Hum...” Hashirama was intensely looking at him, cupping his chin with one of his hand. “It's...too big. You look like a sack of potatoes. Oh oh wait! You look like...a sack of Kerr' Pink potatoes!”

And then he laughed at his own joke, still only wearing a pair of very suspicious underpants that were probably as old as him and holding his, fat-free perfectly toned stomach with his muscular and very naked arms – Madara be careful you're drooling. Or is that me?

He didn't even realized he was now so close to him, nearly touching, as he carefully wiped what was coming from Madara's mouth with his thumb – and then he licked his finger, which caused Madara to whimper at the sight, and Hashirama frowned : it didn't really taste like sake and he felt a little bit disappointed.

His cheeks were getting hot. He knew then, that the disaster was about to happen. Madara had only barely managed to keep his attraction to his best male friend secret for the past few years, and he really couldn't afford to be caught. And certainly not by the object of his hidden and guilty desire. Of course it was too late, too fucking late, 'cause right now Hashirama was looking at him with his puzzled gaze – the one that said 'if I was a normal person I would totally get the hint but you know I'm Hashirama so I'm lost tell me what's wrong Madara' and he was caressing his redden cheeks with his wet thumb and his eyes were half closed his mouth slightly opened – how could he get more attractive than before?

“...Purple.” He said softly, and very randomly if you asked Madara.

“...What again?” he tried to sound not trouble and totally aroused but his attempt miserably failed. Hopefully, Hashirama was too drunk and too absorbed to care.

“We should mixed blue and pink and get you a purple hat. Plus, it will fit your rings better.”

Naked or not, the moment these words escaped the Senju's lips Madara decided he would spend the rest of the night outside; and kicked his friend out of his house.

He didn't even have the time to celebrate his victory. Hashirama was knocking again at the door. Then at the window. And eventually when he understood Madara was simply and childishly ignoring him, he used his Mokuton to open a gate in Madara's wooden wall.

“You could at least give my bathrobe back you asshole!”

“If it wasn't for you I wouldn't have so many rings okay ?! When will you stop showing up in the middle of the night-”

“It's NOT the middle of the night!”

“Now it is! And, if you want your bathrobe so badly just go for it already”

Wow, that was really, really, extremely dumb. The next moment Hashirama was on top of him, his bathrobe in his hand and well, Madara was just as naked as his attacker. They stayed still for what seemed to be an eternity when Madara felt something wet on his skin – it was apparently Hashirama turn to drool.

“Do you...I'd want...no I need...” he licked his lips, and Madara swallowed loudly – and immediately cursed when he felt that his cock wanted to participate too.

“...Cheese. Do you have some? I'm hungry. I mean all that alcohol just whet my appetite.”

“Jeez...” Madara got up and rearranged his hair. “I don't have cheese. I hate cheese. And you're lactose intolerant. You'll have a sick stomach tomorrow and have a huge diarrhoea...” The thoughts lingered into Madara's mind. “...Actually, I might have some kiri.”

“I'm good with that.”

Inside Madara's house this night there was two very naked and very – very – straight men, drinking sake and eating kiri; and one of them suddenly realized it wasn't enough. Because first, Kiri wasn't real cheese and, secondly, maybe Hashirama didn't yearn for cheese. Maybe it was something totally different that was driving him crazy and giving him bowel movements – nope Hashirama that was totally cheese but anyway – and he suddenly found the answer his the corner of Madara lip's, where a small piece of white cheese was stuck. He licked it off. Then he licked Madara's lips, then the inside of his mouth, his tongue, his chin, his torso and his nipples – and in the end he got the chance to have the piece of cheese he had long for so long.

 

* * *

 

In the morning Hashirama woke up with a terrible headache. He was not surprised to see him totally naked in Madara's bed – it wasn't like it wasn't happening every night after all, or was it? - and as always, the Uchiha wouldn't remember a single thing.

Madara on the other hand was still blissfully sleeping with his mouth wide open, snoring and drooling on Hashirama's arm, his hair dishevelled and his arms outside on the frame. He was so...cute! So adorable! Hashirama could spend the rest of his life just staring at him – and he really wanted to crave his face of that cliff, oh he would – but now wasn't a proper time for daydreaming. He had to get out of here without waking him. As he tried to take his arm off, Madara started moving, and Hashirama froze when he heard him speak.

“Hashi...rama...I don't want...a hat...it greases...my hair...”

And then he loudly snored and everything was back to normal again.

Hashirama stopped in front of the table. He had left his white bathrobe and his red bobble hat here last night. He also took a glimpse at the Uchiha emblem. Then he smiled.

The Hokage hat had to be red. 'Cause white and red were totally fine together.

 

 

 

_[...Years and a lot of bottle of sake later...]_

 

 

“Saru, why isn't the Hokage hat blue?” Tobirama asked him, wearing his new outfit for the first time.

“What blue? Sky blue, turquoise blue-”

“Light blue of course. The color of water and masculinity! Seriously it would have suits me a lot better. And now we can't change it because of that Misukage piece of shit.”

“Hey there calm down, you can't be saying things like this now that you're Hokage.” Sarutobi calmed him. “Maybe it's red because it's the color of fire, and Misukage hat is blue 'cause it's the color of water.”

“...Yeah, that makes sense.”

Hashirama laughters didn't make any sense to them at the moment but really, nobody cares.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I regret nothing


End file.
